“We deserve that crate. The bourbon vanilla alone is worth the lie, not to mention those Indian cardamom pods!” Matty defends his deed.
I pat him on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay, Matty, I promise. It’ll hurt for a while. You’ll feel like crap for a time. But you will get over it. And when you do get over it, you’ll start to heal, too.”
“The only thing I want to heal right now is this hangover,” he says.
“I’m pretty sure you’re still drunk right now. One hour of sleep doesn’t cut it.”
Matty nervously looks around and notices the box of truffles. “Oh, crap, you said you were going to test some recipes today. And the breakfast service?—”
“It starts in thirty minutes,” I tell him. “Cool your heels; we’re fine. We’re doing a light breakfast this morning, remember? Alex said they want us to go heavy on the lunch menu instead: the roast, the rosemary and parmesan baby potatoes. The feast of kings and queens, as we called it.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” he says.
“So let’s get some more coffee into your system, and you can assist, okay? We’ll wrap it up real quick, and then off to bed with you until precisely noon. I’ll come and get you.”
Matty frowns at me. “Or we could call someone from the auxiliary team.”
“No, I want to work with you, Matty. And you need to work in order to keep your mind off other, less pleasant things.”
19
RAINA
“Ican’t believe it’s already here,” Matty mutters.
We both stand back and watch as the waiters carry the last plates of dessert out of the kitchen and into the main salon, where the Haus of Sin guests and their hosts are about to indulge in a redesigned blueberry pie.
“And I can’t believe you actually went with my blueberry pie suggestion,” he adds.
I offer a resigned shrug and a cool smile in return. “It’s not my fault you make a mean pie. All I did was give it a new life and a new look on the plate. Plus, Matisse’s fancy bourbon vanilla added the extra panache. I hardly did anything.”
“Shut up; you’re awesome,” he shoots back.
Personally, I can’t believe tonight marks the end of Haus of Sin’s winter season. Tomorrow, I’ll be packing and returning to Portland, with no idea as to how my relationship with Alex, Max, and Vincent will evolve, if it can evolve past this point at all.
Our intimacy is wonderful, and I can’t get enough of them. It’s a problem because my heart is pulling toward them, while my reason struggles to keep me grounded. I love the firmness, the bondage, the sweet punishment, the absolute possession. I love the safety and the sensuality I’ve found in their arms. We devour one another. But the real world awaits, and I’ve yet to learn my new place in it.
“We should get started on the cleaning, I guess,” I tell Matty.
“You know...” He slowly turns to face me. “That spice crate isn’t the only thing Matisse left behind. I found a bottle of rare gin in the pantry the other day, stashed behind the flour bags. I opened it. It smells amazing. We could toast our own end to the season, if you want.”
My stomach churns. I’ve been queasy all morning, so I shake my head. “I’d love that, but the mere thought of alcohol makes me want to hurl.”
“You were quite partial to the Port we used for the steak sauce on Valentine’s Day,” he grumbles, almost displeased with my reply.
“Won’t argue with you there. But I’ll tell you what, you can toast with that fancy-shmancy gin, and I’ll toast with some orange juice.”
“Sounds reasonable,” he concedes.
We get back to the worktables and start wiping them down while the dishwasher handles the third-course plates. The first course wares are already dry and waiting to be put into their respective cabinets. Tomorrow, a cleaning crew will come in to disinfect and lock everything down until next winter.
“What are they going to do with the storage products?” I ask Matty at one point.
“Well, it depends. Last year, staff members got to pick whatever they wanted to take home from the fresh and frozen storage rooms, so it wouldn’t go to waste. Three items each. Everything that won’t last until next winter gets donated to a local homeless kitchen down in Portland,” he says.
“That’s so nice.”
Of course. Why expect anything less from my men? I dread leaving Haus of Sin tomorrow. Kaleb has been calling me, though, itching to reconnect. He even offered to bring his pickup truck to Battle Ground to help me move back to Portland.
